I ft MEADE 

GenCo 1 1 

1 Author 














Afloat and Ashore, 


— BY — 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE, 

w 


AUTHOR OF’ 

"History of the United States,” "Man Without 
A Country,” "In His Name,” Etc, 


\ 








SEARLE & GORTON, 
1891 . 






Copyright, 1891, 

BY SEARLE & GORTON. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


ArLGAT AND Ashore. 


A Marblehead boy ! 

That means very little to the boys and girls 
scattered up and down through America now. But 
this is a story of several months of the fifth 
year of the Revolutionary war, and then the 
words ^<a Marblehead boy” meant a great deal. 

I will call this boy’s name Hiram Flood. To 
say that he lived in Marblehead is to say that he 
could swim ever since he could remember, that 
he could take a dory out through the surf or bring 
her back through the surf and not take in a tea- 
spoonful of water. It is to say that he had, often 
and often, gone out in what they called the fishing- 
boats, which most of you boys and girls would 


6 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


think quite large vessels ; that he was not afraid of 
the salt water, or of icicles on the rigging, — and 
that, in short, there was nothing he could not do 
in the water. I am afraid he knew nothing about 
the greatest common divisor, and that he did not 
know the difference between a predicate and an 
object — indeed, that he had never heard of either. 
But he could say the Lord’s prayer and ‘‘Now I 
lay me down to sleep he could write his name so 
you could read it ; and he could read his bible and 
his newspaper. 

Hiram Flood’s father was with Mugford in one 
of the little vessels with which Washington used 
to annoy the English fleet, when Boston was 
besieged. The vessel ran aground as she was try- 
ing to get away from some of the large English 
cruisers. All they could do was to fire shot at her 
and they did not want to do that, because they 
wanted to save her. So they sent their boats to 
take her, and Mugford and his men beat off boat 
after boat, as the brave English sailors came up to 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


1 


them. But poor Mugford himself was killed, and 
so was Jonas Flood, Hiram Flood’s father. And 
when the little schooner ran into Marblehead, her 
flag was at half mast ; and all the boys waiting on 
the wharves, and all the men and Women, knew 
that there was disaster. Jonas Flood’s body was 
buried the same day that Mugford’ s body was 
buried ; and his boys and his girls and their mother 
were left in the queer little house on the top of the 
rocks, without him. 

Then the younger boys had to be satisfied as 
they could when Hiram said that he was going to 
ship with Captain Pickman, in the privateer “Fly- 
ing Fish,” which was going out from Salem. 
They were not big enough to ship with him. For 
one of the boys had been over the day before, and 
he said that Captain Pickman would take nobody 
who was not sixteen years old, and that he would 
take nobody unless his mother sent a letter with 
him. But Hiram was fortunately ten days more 
than sixteen years old. And his mother knew that 


8 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


somehow the children must be fed and th’e house 
kept warm. And so, with the tears in her eyes, 
as soon as her husband’s body was in the grave, 
she wrote the letter to Captain Pickman. It was a 
badly spelled letter, and the paper was blistered 
with tears, but it said that Hiram was a good boy, 
and would neither drink nor lie nor steal ; and that 
was all that Captain Pickman wanted. So Hiram 
went on his first voyage. 

They went down into the West Indies in the 
“Flying Fish,” and they caught three or four Eng- 
lish vessels — one a large ship which had strayed 
away from her companions, and Hiram was put 
in the prize crew which took her safely back to 
Salem. The ship was sold at auction, and the 
money was divided between the captain, the mates 
and the sailors of the privateer, by just the same 
law by which, in those days, as in these days, the 
money made by selling a cargo of fish was di- 
vided. And so it was that, in only seven months 
after Hiram’s father died, he came back to his 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


9 


mother with a little bag of Spanish silver dollars, 
and with three hundred dollars in Continental cur- 
rency — and in those days Continental currency was 
worth a great deal more than it was afterward. 

He was willing to stay at home for a little while 
and to take care of the gard^. He made his 
younger brothers work, as even their mother could 
not do. He had dug the ground over for spring, 
and had two large loads of good manure hauled 
upon it, when one of the other sailor boys, who 
came up from Boston, told him that the ^^Alliance” 
was going to sail, and that she would have on board 
the ^‘Marquis,” as they all called General Lafay- 
ette. The other Marblehead boy had shipped on 
the Alliance,” and he told Hiram that it was a 
great deal better to be on a Continental ship than 
on a privateer. He told him that you were sure 
of something, and that, although you did not make 
so large shares as he had had on the “ Flying 
Fish,” you were quite sure that there would be 
sonie fighting and some prizes, and that you would 


10 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


not come home poor. And he said that in the 
naval service, as they began to call it, the rules 
were stricter; so that mates and others had to be 
humane, and that young seamen were better 
treated on the whole than the chances were that 
they would be on a privateer. If Hiram could 
have sailed with Captain Pickman again he would 
have done so; but he could not do that. So he 
coaxed his mother to let him go again, and he 
went on foot to Boston, and shipped in the Alli- 
ance.” 

It was a wretched set among whom he found 
himself. Queerly enough, the Yankee boy was 
more at home among the Frenchmen of the crew 
than among the sailors of the mess where he was 
first thrown. The Alliance ” herself was a capi- 
tal ship. She had been built in Massachusetts, 
was not long afloat, and took her name from the 
fortunate alliance with France. Unfortunately, to 
show the confidence of the United States in their 
illustrious ally, the government had given the com- 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


11 


mand of the ^‘Alliance” to a French officer named 
Landais. He went crazy afterward, and at this 
time he was so queer and wild that old sailors 
would not ship under him. Nothing so plainly 
shows how green and how patriotic at once was 
our hero, as his willingness to go out under Lan- 
dais. But he had a boy’s notions. He meant to 
serve the country and he would serve at first- 
hand. He had rather take his orders from the 
government than from any skipper, whose first 
thought, perhaps, was for profit. So without even 
asking advice of the old Tom Coffins who were 
hanging about the Boston wharves, he signed the 
articles and entered into the service of the United 
States. 

From day to day, after he had been mustered 
into service, they lingered in Boston. There was 
nothing he was not made to do in the service of 
the ship, from carrying a letter to the State House 
to the chairman of the Naval Committee, round to 
taking his turn in the caboose, as a temporary 


12 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


cook. Sailors would not enlist, and only a few 
landsmen even, under a man like Landais. A few 
Frenchmen signed the rolls, because they wanted 
to go back to France. But all the advertising, and 
drinking, and begging, which Landais and his 
more intelligent officers could devise, would not 
fill up the crew. 

And in the midst of all came to Boston the 
^‘Marquis,” as every one called Lafayette. He was 
to go in the ^‘Alliance” to his own country. 
Everybody longed to see the Marquis, and to sail 
with the Marquis was proposed as a great induce- 
ment. But sailors would not go any more because 
the Marquis was on board. 

While everything was waiting, the English 
man-of-war “Somerset” was wrecked on Cape 
Cod, but all her men were saved. In despair for 
sailors, Landais asked leave to enlist some of these 
Englishmen on the “ Alliance.” They were glad 
enough to change their flag, or said they were. 
And the end of the matter was that she went to 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


13 


sea, in the middle of January, with perhaps the 
worst crew that ever sailed — a few Americans, 
more Frenchmen, and forty or fifty Englishmen, of 
whom nobody knew anything, except that they said 
they were sick of King George. But the Marquis 
yearned to go to sea, and to sea the ‘‘Alliance” 
went. 

Hiram had very much his choice, as an early 
comer, as to his mess and gun. But it happened, 
when the voyage was half over, that he had made 
a sailor’s acquaintance with a Bordeaux boy 
named Francois Coppee, hardly older than he was. 
Hiram had spent a winter at Port au Prince, and 
could talk French in a fashion. So he and Coppee 
became quite friendly, and Hiram got himself 
transferred to the larboard battery and messed 
with the Frenchman. On this accidental change 
as things happened, a great deal turned. 

The deck leaked above his own hammock one 
stormy night, and he took his blanket and a heavy 
quilt his mother had given him, and made his bed 


14 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


on the floor between his own gun and the stern- 
chaser which the ‘^Alliance” carried. The night 
was rough, and in a sudden pitch he struck his 
head against the wheel of the gun carriage so 
heavily that he was well awakened. He pulled 
himself together however, wrapped his blanket 
tighter round him, and tried for sleep again. But 
now he could not but hear the whispered talk of 
two men whose hammocks were nearly over him. 
Both of them spoke in French, and in the security 
of men who supposed they would not be under- 
stood by any listener. 

To Hiram’s horror, they were coolly discussing 
the plans of the mutiny, by which the Englishmen 
in the ship meant to surprise the officers, and take 
her into England. They had confided in these 
two Frenchmen, because they were deserters from 
the French navy, who might be shot in France. 
The plan was that the lookout should cry Sail 
ho !” when most of the officers and all the passen- 
gers were below. As they came on deck to see 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


15 


the sail, each of them was to be seized at the 
companion. 

All this was to be done the very next day. In 
thejnidst of the talk of the men the officer on duty 
walked aft, and they stopped. Hiram did not dare 
speak to him then, or give any suspicion by being 
awake when he was not on duty. Nor, when 
morning came, did he dare tell Landais. He was 
so crazy and fitful that the messenger of such 
tidings might be tied up and* flogged, quite as 
probably as praised. Hiram waited till the Mar- 
quis came on deck for a walk, which he always 
took before breakfast. Then he joined him and 
led him off to a place where they would be quite 
alone. He talked in French, in a whisper. La- 
fayette was almost beside himself with his surprise 
and anxiety. He also knew by this time how un- 
fit was Landais, even for the confidence which 
must now be placed in him. He charged the boy 
to continue his watchfulness, and hurried to find 
the first lieutenant. 


16 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


That officer was hardly willing to speak to 
him. Clearly, he also was intensely excited about 
something. 

‘‘I know what you have on your mind,” said 
Lafayette. “ Perhaps I have the same news with 
you.” And he told him what Flood had said to him. 

It was true. The lieutenant had himself re- 
ceived, from an Irishman, who had been ap- 
proached by the men concerned in the plot, the 
same news which Hiram had brought to the Mar- 
quis. 

They were but just in time. But they were in 
time. The tables were turned, and instead of the 
mutineers arresting the officers and passengers, the 
officers and passengers arrested the mutineers. 
Fortunately for Lafayette, fortunately for the ship, 
they had postponed the execution of the plot from 
the morning to the afternoon. In that postpone- 
ment, the whole prospect of success was lost. Just 
before the time when the signal was to be given, 
all the officers and all the passengers rushed on 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


17 


deck with their swords drawn. The American and 
French seamen joined them on the instant, and 
seized the mutineers. Thirty or forty of them 
were put in irons, and so the ship was saved. 

It may be well imagined that from this moment 
Lafayette and ^‘his boy,” as he always called 
Hiram, were drawn closely together. When they 
landed, he went up to the city with Lafayette; and 
if this story were the place, a queer account could 
be given of the experiences of a Marblehead boy in 
Paris, in the midst of its sights and wonders. But 
this story is rather to tell how Hiram Flood came 
to England, and what happened to him there, 

Lafayette was at the top of favor. He was the 
favorite of women. He was the favorite of men. 
He was even the favorite at court, where his dis- 
obedience of orders two years before was par- 
doned. And every plan was made for him to take 
command of a military force of the French, which 
was to make a landing on the south coast of Eng- 
land. Paul Jones or somebody was to command a 


18 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


fleet, and France was to invade England, this time 
with perfect success. In the midst of all this 
triumph, Lafayette did not forget Hiram Flood. 
Indeed, he prized the boy so much by this time 
that he knew how he could make him of service to 
his country. And so it was that he gave him a 
commission to cross alone, and in advance, to 
England, that he might possess himself of infor- 
mation which would be of use to the great com- 
bined expedition which Lafayette was to com- 
mand. 

Adieu, mon ami.” This was Lafayette’s 
parting with Hiram. He spoke in the odd mix- 
ture of French and English, glad always to show 
that he was an American, eager at the same time 
to say something, and so often using the words 
which were most familiar. “ Be at home, be quite 
at home yonder, as if you were dans notre pays — 
in our own dear country — as if you were indeed at 
Marblehead, mon cher ami.” And he went on to 
explain again how important it was that, from the 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


19 


moment he landed, there should be some one close 
at his side, who knew every cow-path and sheep- 
track; knew where one could find a horse or a cart 
on the instant. 

He could not have found a more reliable or 
shifty agent than Hiram Flood. And before forty- 
eight hours were past, Hiram was on English 
ground. With the freemasonry of a sailor, he had 
made acquaintance with some men who were going 
to row across a boat load of brandy, the very 
night after he shook Lafayette’s hand. The breeze 
favored them, and before daylight they were land- 
ing the little casks in a country which, in time of 
war, was not very eager about collecting duties. 
Hiram bade his friends good-bye, thanked them 
for the passage, for which he had more than paid 
by his vigorous work in the hours of daybreak, and 
found himself an Englishman. 

Once well ashore, there was neither danger nor 
difficulty. He might have pinned the word Yan- 
kee on his breast, and no English law could have 


20 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


interfered with him, unless he chose to volunteer 
the information that he had served against the 
crown. The English crown still held the Ameri- 
cans as rebels but not as foreigners. If a boy 
were seeking work on a farm in Devonshire he was 
not a rebel. And if that boy spoke reasonable 
English, no one so much as guessed that he had 
come from a country three thousand miles away. 
Hiram represented himself as what he was — a 
sailor landed from a long voyage. If he stopped 
at a farm house for a glass of milk, the good 
woman would be, like enough, glad to give it to 
the handsome lad who reminded her of her own 
boy. Or, 'if a churlish hind made him pay, he 
had been well provided with sixpences by 
Lafayette’s care. 

So, from day to day, he worked westward, till he 
came to the destination prescribed to him, and for a 
long morning tried his chances for an abode in dif- 
ferent homes just outside of Plymouth. And just 
at noon he hit on what he might have dreamed 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


21 


of. In a long lean-to, which had grown out from 
a prosperous farm house, open to the sun and 
air on the south side, more than twenty men 
and women were sitting at dinner. At the head 
was the farmer himself, a fine-looking, sunburned 
man, of more than fifty. He wore the working 
frock of a farmer. But above his head hung the 
broad black hat of a Quaker. And the moment he 
replied to Hiram’s civil and careful address, he 
spoke in the Friend’s language. 

“ Thee landed only on Second Day,” he said, 
interpreting into that language Hiram’s word 
“Monday.” “And thee has not found work till 
now ? Is thee used to stock and farming?” 

Hiram took courage, and explained that he could 
mow, and drive a team, and had harvested oats. 
He took care not to speak of pumpkins or of Indian 
corn. He said, however, frankly, that he was more 
used to boats than to ploughs, and that he had come 
up the hillside to ask for work, because he had 
seen the little cutter which lay in the creek below. 


22 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


The good-natured Quaker smiled benevolently, 
and said, “ Thee is right there, my son. We 
should be poor farmers if we were not good fisher- 
men. The pilchards know the boat, or ought to 
know her. And if thee gets in our oats- with us, 
thee may have to haul a seine as well.” Some- 
thing had pleased him in the boy’s frankness — 
perhaps in the color of his hands, and the hard 
callouses which sea service had marked on them. 
He bade him sit at a vacant place at the end of 
the table, and, when the ample meal was finished, 
Hiram was sent out into an orchard where some 
tree-planting was going on. At night he was called 
into the sitting - room, and formally engaged for 
the time which remained till Whitsunday. “ If 
thee works as well as thee did to-day, we will talk 
then about a full year,” said his new friend. 

And so Hiram was placed, exactly where La- 
fayette would have placed him. And his daily 
duty to his new master compelled him to learn ex- 
actly what would be useful to his friend, the Mar- 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


23 


quis — to the illustrious ally of America, and to his 
own dear country. This great blessing have re- 
publics — that boys or girls, no matter how humble 
be the place they live in, know that they are of use 
to the country which is their mother, and that they 
can serve her in their time. 

The old Quaker, meanwhile, liked his new 
hand as much as the new hand liked his place. It 
soon appeared that Hiram came from the other 
side of the ocean. It appeared, as soon, that all 
the sympathies of Matthew Middle were with the 
rebels, though he would never admit that they 
helped their own cause when they took up arms. 

It appeared also, as he had said at the first, 
that if he and his wife and children and the milk- 
maids and farm-hands whom Hiram saw dining to- 
gether, all had to make their living from the sea- 
washed farm, their chances would be poor indeed. 
But if to the pork and milk and butter of 
the farm there were added the good guineas which 
came when the pilchards were sold, which were 


24 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


the annual harvest of the sea, it was easy to ac- 
count for the prosperity apparent on all sides. 
John Hawkins, who had long been the skipper of 
the boat, had this winter gone ^‘to Lunnon ” to 
try his fortune. John drank more than was good 
for him, and tales of London revels had tempted 
him away. Just at that moment, therefore, 
Hiram’s native skill at the helm or with the sheets 
of the boat came precisely into play. Many was 
the morning when he was told to take the old Qua- 
ker’s sons out in the neat little craft, to see what 
they could bring in for dinner. And so when 
Whitsunday came, he engaged with Nathan Mid- 
dle again. 

One thing Hiram Flood could not do. He 
could not go to bed at eight, as was the custom of 
the whole household. As they came to count him 
more and more one of themselves, this oddity of 
his was overlooked, and his best lonely hours were 
spent under the stars, as he walked to and fro, 
doubting and wondering when he should hear 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


25 


of Lafayette’s landing, and why it was delayed. 

At length, however, he heard, by a mysterious 
channel, that “the Marquis” would not come; the 
French court had changed its plans. The same 
night, in one of his tramps, as he came up to their • 
largest rick of hay — as big as a large house it 
was — Hiram noticed that Tweezer, the dog, was 
snarling. Tweezer was only too fond of sheep, 
and Hiram dared not take him as a companion 
unless he was tethered. But he knew very well 
that there were no sheep here. He let the dog 
loose, and instantly he flew to the shaded side of 
the hay-rick. Hiram followed almost as quickly. 

“Call off your darned dog or I’ll fix him — I tell 
you — ” Such was the cry which greeted him. To 
Hiram’s delighted ear, the words were spoken in 
the undiluted accent of New England. 

“Who be ye, anyway?” answered Hiram. 
“How come any Yankee here? I’m a Yankee 
sailor myself.” 

It was enough, and on the instant a man as tall 


26 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


as Tom Coffin emerged from the shelter he had 
made in the hay. Whoever ye be, the good Lord 
sent ye. Nathan, Nathan!” he called, ‘‘et’s all 
right. He’s one on us.” 

They were two of a party of American prison- 
ers, who had succeeded that very morning, three 
hours before sunrise, in breaking out from Dart- 
moor, .the prison which gave so cruel a reception 
to hundreds of the seamen taken from American 
privateers. At the first moment the two supposed 
that Hiram was one of their own party. 

No,” said he, “ I’m nothin’ but a farm-hand. 
But I’m one of you, an’, thank God, I hain’t been 
in that ere old hulk myself.” And then they told 
him, trusting wholly in his voice, that there were 
nine more of their number not half a mile away. 

Hiram said he could at least care for them the 
next day. He led the two carefully down to the 
landing, and put them in a garret over the fish- 
house. Some old sails and some fish boxes were 
kept there. “ But ef ye keep quiet, nobody but me 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


27 


will come nigh ye.” And when he was sure that 
they would not miss the way, he permitted Nathan 
Ireson to go inland for the other nine stragglers. 
He would bring them bread enough for breakfast 
in the morning. And, not dissatisfied with his 
night’s work, he went home, at midnight, to his 
bed. 

Before daybreak, Hiram had knocked at Na- 
than Middle’s door, wakened him, and told him 
the story. There were eleven escaped prisoners 
from Dartmoor in the sail loft. 

The Quaker farmer sat on his bed, and made 
him tell the story again. And has thee come to 
betray them to the enemy ?” he asked. 

“ I have come to tell the truth to a friend,” was 
the boy’s reply. ‘^The men need food. I know 
you will give it to them. I cannot, without steal- 
ing it from you; and I was not brought up to 
steal.” 

‘‘ Thee is not far from the Kingdom of God,” 
said the well pleased old Friend; and he hurried 


28 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


to clothe himself, conducted Hiram to his wife’s 
store-rooms, loaded him with four of the large 
loaves there, and himself took the ham into which 
he had cut for supper. With such load he led the 
way to the shore; with such provision he supplied 
the prisoners. 

As they fell to with ravenous appetite, he sat 
on the head of a barrel, and looked his approval 
of their hunger. He was no teetotaler, and he 
sent Hiram with the key up to the house to bring 
the largest bucket of home-brewed that he could 
carry. So soon as the boy returned, Nathan Mid- 
dle made the longest speech of his life. 

We have no time to lose, friends. There will 
be a hue and cry here within an hour after sunrise. 
Hiram, thee must make a voyage. I should think 
to Cherburg; perhaps to America.” And then, as if 
he were sending the boy out for a day’s fishing, he 
bade him take the men to the cutter, and with them 
be gone. “ If thee is not out of sight by the time 
breakfast is done, thee is not the boy I thinks thee.’ 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


29 


Cherburg, if they could make Cherburg; but 
America if the wind held west or south-west. 
These were the sailing orders given to the aston- 
ished boy and to the men. 

“ Now we have no time to lose,” he said. If 
thee has a fifty days’ voyage before thee, thee will 
need twelve large sacks of meal. They are in the 
grain house. Thee will need all the hams in the 
smoke house.” And he told off five men to go with 
Hiram to fetch them. “ Most of all, thee will need 
water.” And he bade five of the others come 
along with him. In an hour’s work they had filled 
up the large tank with which the cutter was sup- 
plied, and had rolled down four hogsheads to be 
stowed away in her hold. “ Thee will have light 
ballast,” said the good fellow; *‘but thee will do. 
And if thee goes to thine own country, there will 
be short allowance from the very first.” 

Et ain’t the fust time we Dartmoor boys have 
lived on a quart a day, you bet.” This was the 
comment of Asaph King. 


30 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


^^Thee must guess thy way, Hiram; but they 
say thee is good at guessing.” 

“Ef a can’t find Cherburg, I’m a bigger fool 
than a think a be,” said Hiram. 

“ Und ef he don’t know what latitood Boston 
Light is in, he’s a bigger,” said Asaph. And this 
was true. 

“Youre see, sir,” said John Barnard with an 
awkward bow, ^‘all on us that’s fum Marblehead 
ez been to school; and we’s all been to sea, tu. 
En ef any on um couldn’t make the North Star 
forty-two degrees and a half above the ’rizon we’d 
know he was simple. That’s all.” 

What he said, Nathan did not understand ; but 
that they were words of courage. They were enough 
for him. And on those words he bade them good-bye. 

And that morning a stiff north-easter blew and 
blew, and blew them two hundred miles. 

And the next day it blew, and the next ; and 
before it was done blowing, the little cutter was 
half way across the Atlantic. 


AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 


31 


And on the twenty-sixth day after she sailed, at 
five in the morning, she ran into Salem Harbor, 
and rounded to under the lee of the Queen Char- 
lotte,” a prize which had been brought in the day 
before. 

And Hiram Flood went in at his mother’s front 
door, which was never locked for ninety years. 

And he said : 

‘‘Here we be, Mother!” 


THE END. 


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